


Pennys' Long Ride

by zaticon1



Category: Emetophilia - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 05:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16612736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaticon1/pseuds/zaticon1





	Pennys' Long Ride

Pennys’ Long Ride  
Penny yanked open the door of her bedroom closet, pulled down a suitcase from the shelf, and slung it over onto her bed. As it struck the mattress, its¹ unfastened lid flew open. Well, at least something was going right. She went to her dresser and began rummaging through its¹ drawers, pulling out socks, underwear, bras, and petulantly tossing them into the cases open maw. This done, she turned back to the closet, and jerked a series of blouses and jeans off of their hangers. She strode over to the bed and threw the armload of clothes down on top of the under things, then slammed the lid of the case.  
Lake County. She absolutely hated every single thing about the place. It was dirty, dusty, isolated, boring, hot...... .. And she was going to be stuck there, with her parents, for two solid weeks. The first two weeks of summer, in fact. And all because her dad had bought a stupid pick up truck, and now that all of the neighbors were sick to death of hearing him blab about it, he¹d decided to show it off to the drips up there.  
³Yeah, swell, isn’t she? The big straight-6 with the four speed. Monterey Red. The whitewalls were extra. And that radio cost a bundle. Ah, but creeps, a guy just gets one time at bat, y’know? First ‘57 off the lot. The guy told me so. You really oughtta go see him. Ollie Watts, at Cochran and Celli, up in Oakland. ‘Swell guy. ‘Friend of mine. Tell him you know me, and I’ll bet he’ll give you a real sweetheart deal.  
Over and over and over again, Just like a phonograph. At least at home she could get away from it for a while. Not now. Now she was going to get a steady two week long diet of it. She couldn’t believe it. Two weeks in the middle of nowhere, staying in one of those miserable, stuffy cottages next to that awful lake. Two weeks without air conditioning, probably without even a fan, when it was so much hotter up there than it was in Hayward. Two weeks of hearing her dad shoot off his mouth to anybody who’d even pretend to listen. Two weeks of watching him sit on a rickety old fishing pier, drinking Bergomeister beer and seeing how loudly he could burp. Two weeks of eating the gaggy catfish and bluegill that he’d catch and make her mother to cook. She might even have to help him skin out a deer, if he decided to go hunting on Mount. Konocti. She tried hard to keep from thinking about that.  
Two weeks of that, and even worse, two weeks away from Wally. Just when it was looking more and more as if he were going to pop the question. Darn it. It would just about be the limit if he didn¹t, because he thought she¹d rather run off with her dumb parents, to dumb Lake County, when it was the LAST thing that she wanted..........  
All through their senior year together she hadn¹t been able to think of anything but marrying Wally and getting out of her parents house. He had that good shipping clerks job at Hendersons¹ Tractor now, and his uncle had just about promised to help him with the down payment on a house. Those new ones were going up in Fremont. Eleven thousand dollars, they cost. That was a lot of money, but he could get it, she was sure. Then the’d get married and everything would be fine. And now, it all might go “PLOOOF!”, because her dad was dragging her away. She didn¹t know weather to cry or scream.  
It just wasn’t fair, any of it. He hadn’t even warned her about the trip. She’d come walking into the house and he’d just sprung it on her, out of the clear blue.  
“Go pack your duds, Kitten. We’re gonna take a ride.”  
“Where?” she’d asked, scared.  
“Up to Rainbow Court.”  
“Rainbow Court? Lake County?”  
“It’s awful up there!”  
“Aw, honey, it’s just rustic. You’ll get used to it.”  
Rustic. WRETCHED was what it was. There were bats living under the roof, zillions of them. They showed up just before dark, and came swooping down at you to feast on the mosquitoes that were eating you alive. And, in the daytime, there were ants. EVERYWHERE! Big red ones, as long as her thumbnail. The last time they stayed there, somebody had even killed a rattlesnake, right in the yard. It had been sleeping under a garbage can. And the place was old. It stunk like that blue algae from the lake. And the drinking water tasted terrible. Actual things from the dirty, rotten lake, big pieces of stuff, came out, when you turned on the faucets.  
She tried to drag her mind away from all of that, because, as much as she disliked Lake County and Rainbow Court, that wasn’t what had her scared. That was the word; SCARED! She’d come inside because she’d felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to face the drive. Not right now. Not three hours in the truck, with all those curves! That was why she had to keep her mind off of Lake County. She couldn’t afford to let herself think about anything disgusting, right now.  
She’d tried to not show her horror when her dad had spoken up. For a week or so, food had been giving her a hard time, on and off, and today had been the worst, yet. Strangely, she’d been ravenous at breakfast time. Her mom had even commented on it. Everything had looked delicious and she’d eaten huge portions of everything; bacon, eggs, pan fries and biscuits with jam and butter, milk....... Then, almost as soon as she’d gotten up from the table she’d been sorry. That had been about two hours ago, and she’d been getting worse, the whole time. She’d come inside to get a cold Seven Up, hoping it might make her feel better. But now, she didn’t dare put anything more in her stomach. Three hours in that swaying truck, on such a hot day, around all of those awful, winding curves! No! Not right now. PLEASE, not now. But it was no good.  
Too afraid of the soda. She’d hurried up to the bathroom and looked through the medicine cabinet, hoping to find those old carsick pills that the doctor had given her, once. But they were long gone. She’d closed the cabinet and looked at herself in the mirror. She imagined that she could actually her heavy, curdled breakfast, simmering inside her. She looked pale. Well, no wonder, the way she felt, and now how scared she was. Even some of the blue seemed to have faded from her eyes. They looked watery and a little wild. Her cherry red lipstick seemed almost clownish against her pallor. It could be that Mom was right and the color didn’t look good on a blonde.  
Without wanting to, she remembered exactly why she’d originally started wearing her tight pony tail, and wished fiercely that she still had those pills. The hairstyle had been her mothers’ idea, after one awful experience had taught her to to always keep her hair out of the way, just in case.  
That was the same summer that she’d gotten the first bottle of thosecarsick pills. Superstitiously, she thought about taking it down, but that might lead to questions. She’d been wearing it for so long that it was almost her trade mark. She smirked.  
“Just like Chantilly Lace.”  
She really was sorry she didn’t have the pills, though. She hadn’t needed them in ages, but she was going to today. She just knew it.  
She‘d gone to her room and set about getting ready to go, dawdling to give her food as much time as possible to go down. She even tried going to the bathroom, to make more room, but no dice. Sitting on the toilet, though,She’d had an idea. Even as a kid, she never seemed to get sick at night, probably because she could usually manage to fall asleep. She stood up, pulled up her panties and jeans, then went back to the medicine cabinet. There they were. Moms’ sleeping pills. She took down the bottle and opened it, shaking out one tablet, pausing, then adding another. Two. The most that you were ever supposed to take at once. She popped them into her mouth, and, holding back her pony tail with one hand, leaned over and took a small mouthful of water from the tap. She straightened up, tossed back her head, and managed to swallow everything without too much of a mishap. Still, she could feel where the pills had scraped her throat on the way down. Not quite enough water. That couldn't be helped. She’d used as much as she dared.  
She changed clothes three times, mostly to kill time, finally settling on a pair of blue corduroy and a red paisley blouse, with red sneakers, an outfit which was almost identical to the one she’d had on when she started. The pants felt like a girdle around her middle, which reminded her that mother didn’t like for her to wear them so tight.  
“I don’t like the way they show off your fanny.”  
Well Wally did. So that settled it, as far as she was concerned. Still, today she wished that she did have some looser ones, just to be a little more comfortable. But, she didn’t, that was all.  
She checked her purse, making sure that she had a packet of Kleenex, chewing gum, lipstick. Nervous tension already had her feeling worn out, and she was dry mouthed and thirsty. Not desperately so, but she would be, before they got to Lake County. She wanted some more water, but that would have been just stupid. But her mouth was SO dry. Finally, she allowed herself one small swallow , hoping that she wouldn’t be sorry. She wished that she could have at least called Wally, but neither his family or hers had a phone. Resigned that she’d done all that she could, she braced herself for whatever was coming.  
Not long afterward, they pulled out of the driveway, Dad at the wheel, Mom at the passenger side window. She, of course, was stuck in the airless middle. The first few minutes weren’t so bad. The road was all freeway, and mostly straight. She paid close attention to how she was feeling, though, just the same. By this long after breakfast, her food should have settled. She should even be a little bit hungry, even. But she wasn’t, of course. She could have told herself that that was just because she was so nervous, but she knew better. She hoped that the sleeping pills would go to work, pretty soon.  
They were passing the Richmond refinery when her dad switched on the radio. The refinery was such an ugly place in the daytime. Funny, because, at night it was actually beautiful, with so many bright little lights, everywhere, and big flames shooting out of the smoke stacks. Pretty. Not at all the way it was, now, with smoke hanging over it, and the round, house-sized storage tanks painted those awful, pale colors. Lavender, lemon yellow, pale green; They made her think of Necco wafers. Ugh. It was so much worse in the daytime. This made her think again of how she never got sick, riding at night. Once more, she hoped for the pills to take effect.  
The truck suddenly swerved. Her dad had been so interested in tuning in his Favorite radio station that he’d wandered over in to the next lane, and had to jerkthe wheel. The cab swayed three times before it settled down. The new truck didn’t bounce as much as their old Willys had, but it seemed to rock almost as much, and it could go a lot faster. Even on the curves, probably. She swallowed.  
The radio warmed up and the voice of Don Sherwood came on. He was rambling on about something that was happening at the Suez Canal. By the time the tubes were fully heated, he’d gone on to inform the greater Bay Area that the entire staff and management of KSFO smoked Chesterfields.  
“Remember, folks, twenty-one great tobaccos make twenty wonderful smokes!”  
“Blluuueee smoke riiiiiiiiiiings.............. Bring smoke dreeeaaaamms................... . While a Chesterfield buurrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRNNNNNNNnnnnnnssssssss..........”  
That gave both Mom and Dad the same idea. He reached into his shirt pocket, while she rummaged through her purse. They both lit up and, in no time, the cab was filled with cigarette smoke.  
She cleared her throat, being careful not to cough. The dryness in her mouth was still there, and it was bringing on an unpleasant taste. She unwrapped a stick of Beemans from her purse, slipped it into her mouth and chewed, slowly. She took out a Kleenex and covered her nose. She leand against the seat back, trying to get as comfortable as possible and willed herself to be drowsy.  
Eventually, she was. The combination of the pills and the lulling sounds of the traffic did the job. She doze off, suddenly sure that she’d safely unaware through the really bad part of the trip. She’d be okay.  
Before long, she was dreaming. She and Wally were house hunting in Fremont. They found a perfect one. Pink, with a white gravel roof and window frames that were painted to match. with wall to wall carpeting. Karastan. Maytag appliances in the kitchen, an Insinkerator, an Osterizer and Congolium in the kitchen. Even a Dishmaster Imperial. A big Hoffman TV in the knotty pine rumpus room. A soft, comfortable Beauty Rest mattress and box spring set, on the blonde bedroom suite, from Breuners. They’d probably have to wait a year or two before they bought a new car. When they did, it’d be a Roadmaster.  
The truck bumped to a halt. She and opened her eyes and saw her parents getting out.  
“Are we there?” she asked?  
She knew that they weren’t. She recognized Skyler’s Drive In. They were in St. Helena. Dad had stopped for food. They still had to get over the mountain, which was the worst part of the trip and now she was going to be awake when they did it. And they were going to want her to eat.  
“Not yet, Hon. C’mon. Lunch time.”  
“Mm mm”, she said, trying to sound casual. “I don’t want any.”  
Dad looked puzzled. “You sure?”  
“Yeah.”  
He stood with his hand gripping the door of the truck, staring at her.  
“You all right?”  
“Yeah, just sleepy.”  
“Want a root beer float?”  
She closed her eyes and ignored him. Maybe she really could get back to sleep, if she tried. But the food smells from the drive in, and the noise of the customers kept her awake until her folks returned, her dad carrying a big white bag of cheeseburgers and fries.  
When they got back in and started unwrapping the food, she almost couldn’t stand it. The smells! Skyler’s mixed chopped onions in their hamburger meat, before they cooked it. The smell was overwhelming, and the cheese made it even worse. Her dad handed a big box of French fries over to her mom, who started spreading them with ketchup, from those new little plastic bags that they had, now. Somehow, that was the worst part.  
“Here,” her dad said, reaching into the bag. “We got you one, anyway.” He held out a sandwich, wrapped in greasy yellow wrapper.  
Ulllh! “No. No thanks, Daddy. Really. I’m not hungry.”  
He took a big bite from his own sandwich and looked at her while he chewed. “You sure you’re okay?”  
“Yeah, I just had a lot of breakfast, that’s all.” She nodded at the burger in his hand. And I don’t want that.”  
“Okay,” he said, finally. He put the cheeseburger back in the bag. “You’re the boss.”  
“If I were, we’d still be in Hayward,” she thought. She closed her eyes as her dad started the truck.  
She played possum all the way through town, until they reached the base of Mount. St. Helena, when the twisting road forced her to open her eyes. This was where it was going to really start getting bad. She realized that she still had her gum in her mouth, even though she was no longer chewing it. She spat it into the wadded Kleenex that she was still holding. It suddenly occurred to her that taking the sleeping pills might not have been a good idea. It wasn’t good to ride with your eyes closed. Maybe she’d better try to stay awake.  
It wasn’t easy. But every time she closed her eyes, the movement of the truck seemed to get worse. How much longer was she going to have to keep fighting this way? The ride over the mountain usually took about half an hour. Maybe she could make it. She hadn’t actually thrown up from riding in probably five years. That wasn’t bad. Besides, the windows were open, and if her folks didn’t start smoking again, maybe. She wished that they’d hurry up and finish finish eating, though. She looked down at her feet, away from both of them, so that she wouldn’t have to see the food.  
A particularly sharp curve took her completely by surprise. Her head swam, her guts wrenched, and she had a horrible vision of everything she’d eaten, each rotten, ugly bit and drop of it sloshing against the sensitive walls of her stomach like a wave against a seawall. She felt the first wave of real sickness, then. Everything to that point was the kind of feeling you could tell yourself was just overeating, or nervousness, the kind of uncomfortable feeling she could lie to herself about. Not this. This was the bad kind. The kind that really could........make her.....  
And she’d brought it on herself, by not keeping her eyes on the horizon, the way that she’d always been told. She wouldn’t do that again. She forced herself to look out at the passing greenery. It didn’t really help. There wasnÕt any horizon to look at, just a blur of pine trees and brush. And it was all going by in a shifting, waving blur. It wasn’t good, but it had to be better than looking at anything inside of the truck.  
She got angry, then. She hadn’t brought any of this on herself. All of it was happening because of her Dad. And her mother too, don’t forget. She didn’t like coming up here, either, but would she say anything? No! She just went along with it. That meant that Penny had to go along with it, too. No matter what it cost her. No matter, even, if Wally misunderstood her disappearing on him and broke up with her, dropped her for Judy, maybe. No matter that the ride was agony. Making her feel more and more like getting sick every second. Maybe making her really DO it, even! Oh, that would be awful. They’d both be mad at her for it and then she’d have to put up with THAT!  
If she were with Wally, he wouldn’t be mad. She could have told him how she felt, and he’d have pulled over and let her get out and walk around, until she felt better. He wouldn’t say that she was wasting time. Of course he wouldn’t Because he CARED about her.  
Even if she did have to throw up. He’d have been nice to her, and taken care of her, and told her that everything was going to be all right. And it WOULD have been all right. But her parents wouldn’t do anything like that. God, she HATED THEM!  
Were they half way up the mountain, yet? She told herself that they were. Then, at the peak of another one of those terrible curves, parked in a turnout next to the oncoming lane, was a gray and white station wagon. Next to it, someone dressed all in white was vomiting. It was dark orange, almost brown, and it was just gushing out of them. Somebody else was with them, so Penny couldn’t really get a clear look at the person who was being sick. Doing so seemed terribly important, because if she knew what they were like, she might have a better idea if she was going to make it. If it were a little kid, that wouldn’t be so bad. Little kids got sick way more than teen-agers. And she was almost nineteen, herself, almost grown up. Was it a girl, or a boy? Boys didn’t seem to get as sick as girls. She hoped it wasn’t a boy. That would have been the worst. But a boy probably wouldn’t have been all in white, would he? And did they have as far to go, as the other car had, or was she going to get past the curves in time?  
Orange. Almost brown. She couldn’t stop herself from picturing what kind of food would look like that. Hers would look different. Hers would be all yellow and white. The bacon wouldn’t, but that was all. Except the jam. Oh, she’d eaten SO much breakfast. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about that? That and all the other times she’d thrown up on the mountain? They were passing one place where it happened, right now, in fact. Right here, across from the Mount Mills Girls’ School. A long time ago. Maybe that was a good sign, actually. This much riding had gotten her sick that time, but now, she was still holding on. That had to be good. 

But then, there’d been that time in Middletown. Middletown was on the  
Other side of the mountain. They were way past all the curves, and they  
weren’t even driving. They were stopped at a gas station, in the old  
blue Cadillac. Mom and Dad were talking, while the guy at the station washed the  
windshield. She was just sitting there, in the front seat with them, not  
even feeling all that bad, really. And then it just happened. Right there.  
Funny, because she almost always knew when it was coming. Her Dad went crazy  
if she didn’t warn him in time for him to pull over. She almost always did.  
Not that time, though. It was awful. Her mom had caught most of it, bit  
that only made it worse, because she’d used Dads’ old army hat to do it. The one he’d  
Actually brought home from the war. He’d had it for years, and she’d filled it up with vomit. He and Mom had gotten into a big, screaming argument. He  
was yelling at her and Mom about the hat, and she was screaming that she could take  
it home and wash it, but he wouldn’t let her. 

“THROW THE SUNNUVUHBITCH AWAY!”  
Then, later, at home, her mother had really given her what for.  
³If you think you’re gonna regurgitate.................” Regurgitate. That was her word for it. She never said “throw up”, or anything. Penny hadn’t even heard the word “vomit” until she was almost ten years old.  
“.........if you think you’re gonna regurgitate, TELL US, so we can HELP YOU. If you’d gotten out and walked around, a little bit, you wouldn’t have done that.”  
She usually did tell them, but she didn’t like to. She didn’t want to admit that it was going to happen. And, it was embarrassing, somehow. That was why she’d had a few accidents. Those were even worse, though. It was so hard, deciding if she had to tell them, or if it was just going away, and let her keep it secret.  
They were coming to the crest of the mountain. Good. Good! How she feel? Worse? No. Better. Not better. Better, then worse, then better again. In waves. She realized, suddenly that her dad and mom had finished their cheeseburgers. She was glad. Funny she hadn’t noticed when they’d thrown away the wrappers. Of course, once they were done eating, the cigarettes came back out.  
And then, they did something worse. Without even saying anything, her dad pulled the truck into the parking lot of the Glen Vista Creamery, the little road house that was right on the peak of the mountain. She’d really hoped he wouldn’t have stopped, this time. She should have known better. He always did, unless, it was closed, or if she got sick before they got there and spoiled everybodys’ appetite. Well, this time, she hadn’t. Lucky her. Lucky everybody.  
“I’m still not hungry,” she said, before either of them had a chance to speak.  
“Okay,” her dad grunted. “Stay in the truck.” He was obviously getting annoyed at her apparent moodiness, and that might be bad. He was liable to really start riding her and she couldn’t stand that. They both thought she’d outgrown her car sickness, and really she had. This was strange, that it was back, and so strong. She really didn’t want to have to explain it.  
She sat perfectly still until they came back, Mom with a double dip ice cream cone, Dad with a root beer float. Her mother was taking big, wet licks of her ice cream. Chocolate and something else. Something purple. Boysenberry, maybe. The brown and purple looked awful, melted together on her tongue. But ice cream wasn’t so bad. She could look away from it, and it didn’t really smell. But that cheese burger, still sitting there on the seat............. All cold and greasy, wrapped in that bright yellow wax paper........  
Eventually, Mom worked her way through both scoops of her ice cream, then started crunching the cone. God, the sound was horrible. It made her think someone stepping on big, hard bugs. Oh! Why did she have to think of that? And how could they be eating? Hadn’t they seen what was happening, next to that station wagon? They wouldn’t be eating now if she’d done that.  
Dad made a loud sucking noise with his straw, drawing up the last of his float. He casually tossed the empty cup out the window of the truck, then pushed in the cigarette lighter on the dash. He reached into his pocket and took out his pack of Old Golds, shaking the pack as he brought it to his lips. The lighter popped out, as he was putting away the pack. He piced it up and touched it to the end of his cigarette.  
“We’ll stop at the spring and get a drink,” he announced, letting out a long, blue drag.  
The spring was one of the so called charms of the trip. The water was supposed to be something special, but she was never in shape to enjoy it, when it was available, and if they brought some home in a jug, it didn’t seem so hot. Still, they’d have to pull over, and that was good. She wouldn’t be able to drink any, but it’d be good for her to get out of the truck. In fact, she should have done that While her parents were inside the creamery, no matter what her dad had told her. Why hadn’t she? Stupid. 

In a few minutes, they saw the little wide spot in the road which surrounded the stone and concrete pedestal the stream of water with the length of pipe that projected from it. The spring. Dad pulled over and parked the truck at the end the line of parked cars that were lined up beside it.  
She was glad that there were so many people ahead of them. The longer they had to wait, the better. She got out and stood on the shoulder of the road, with her arms folded across her stomach. She breathed slowly and deeply, trying to feel better. It seemed to be helping. Good.  
“They’re about done,” she heard her dad say.  
She stalled as long as she could, then followed her parents over to the spot where the spring came out of the mountain, channeled through a steel pipe set in concrete. She watched her dad lean down and drink his fill, followed by her mom. Finally it was her turn, and she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to bend over.  
After a moment of panic, instead of bending, she squatted in front of the spring and put her lips to the stream. She pretended to drink, but only her rinsed her mouth. That helped almost as much as being out of the truck had. She began feeling optimistic.  
It did’¹t last. Almost as soon as they got back underway, she began feeling worse than ever. She wondered if she might have swallowed some water, from the spring after all, though she knew perfectly well that she hadn’t. That wasn’t good. Not at all. Then they passed another spot that she remembered; a place where a huge boulder stuck out of the side of the mountain, overhanging a washout into which a culvert emptied. Once, she’d leaned over and been violently sick into the rushing stream, while her mother held her by the waist. That, she realized, despairingly, had been The last time. Five years ago. Five short, quick years. Almost no time at all.  
She clamped her jaws and fought with everything she had. She was not going to get sick. SHE WASN'T! They were past the spring, and that meant only a few more minutes of the twisty part of the road. Mom and dad were finished with their ice cream, of course, and, with the windows open, she couldn’t even really smell the cheese burger, next to her, on the seat. She could make it. She dug her nails into her palms, not even realizing that she had, until she felt their bite. In so doing, she managed not to notice her nausea ratcheting up one more notch. She was gonna be fine. She just prayed that they didn’t start smoking again.  
They didn’t. It was strange. She wanted the drive to be over with, but if there was a place up ahead where she was going to have to face what might happen, she didn’t want to get there. She wanted it to stay up ahead, safely in the distance. She remembered a bad dream she’d had when she was little. She’d been walking toward the front of the house, pushing her little toy of baby carriage. For some reason, the walls were lined with white, rippling bed sheets. She was afraid, because she knew that, up ahead, in the living room, there was a skeleton. She was afraid of it and didn’t want to see it. And, somehow, the house kept getting longer as she walked, so that she never got to the living room, where the long, gray bone monster lay , stretched across the sofa. That was good. Wistfully, she wished for something like that, in the nauseated drowsiness that was coming on her again. It stood to reason, didn’t it, that if she never got to where she was going to be sick, than she couldn’t BE sick? But, then the ride would never be over and she’d keep feeling like this... Well, it didn’t matter, anyway. ‘Silly thing to think about.  
She managed to keep here eyes open until they reached the foot of the mountain. It was so good to leave the curves behind. A few miles ahead was Middletown. She was sure that if she could get past there, she’d be fine. She was drifting in and out, but came awake as they passed the gas station, where her dad had stopped to fill up the Caddilac, that time. It felt like the final good omen. She’d made it farther than the last place that she’d ever gotten sick. In her relief, the stress of it all caught up with her, and she was exhausted. That was all right, now. That was fine. In no time, she was dead to the world.  
The dream came. She and Wally. They were in their beautiful new house in Fremont. Everything was fine. They were back from their honeymoon, in San Diego. They were home and living the great life that she knew they were going to have. It was a beautiful autumn night. They were in bed, lying together, in the big blonde bed that she’d seen, at Breuners. They were making love, Wally was moving behind her as they lay on their sides, his face buried in her hair, kissing her neck, slipping into her, just the way she’d let him, that one time, in the back of his big Nash, on graduation night. .  
Then, they weren’t in bed at home. It was June and they were in the Nash, in the parking lot, behind Hendersons’ Tractor, the one time that she’d let Wally go all the way. It was just the same. Again, she was suddenly scared. She pulled away, but it was too late. It was already happening. He reached around and cupped one hand tightly over her mound, so that she couldn’t get away. And he was strong. She struggled for an instant longer but it was no good. It was over.

Then, they were back in their bed and it was still going on. She still tried to get him out of her, even though they were married, and in their own bed, and it was all right to for him to finish, she was pulling away, and he was hanging on, dragging her toward him, both of his hands drawing her toward him. Not pressing against her breasts, gently, the way he’d been, a minute ago, and not farther down, where she loved to feel his fingers, tickling and rubbing, pressing brutally hard into her stomach. So very hard. It hurt. She had to make him stop. She had to get away. To sit up. Now.  
Her eyes snapped open. Once again, the truck was parked. She blinked and looked through the windshield, across a bare dirt lot at a run down, tin and wood frame building. On it’s sagging wall was a faded metal sign.

Valley Oak Produce Elton Bryte, Proprietor. The slightly uneven letters were a chalky black on a rusty white background. She realized that they were at the fruit stand. The place was just as she remembered it. The shabby bill board was framed on either side by brighter, newer looking commercial signs, One a gigantic metal Coca Cola bottle, the other a green disc emblazoned with the name Bubble Up. There were more, but she didn’t care.  
In front of the building, produce was displayed on big sheets of thin plywood supported at each corner by lug boxes. A tall colored man in slacks and a white shirt was walking up and down between these, picking and choosing fruits and vegetables, placing them in of his arm.  
Closest to her, on one of the makeshift tables, was a large number of jugs and bottles, containing apple cider, honey, and a drink called Cherry Royal. She knew the horribly sweet taste of it. It seemed the worst thing imaginable. She drew in her breath and held it.  
The fat man who ran the place was cutting a watermelon in half, while he joked with her folks. A few feet away was a toddler, a little boy in blue corduroy rompers and a green tee shirt. He was sitting on a tricycle, staring at her. A beagle puppy was trotting, next to him. Her dads’voice floated across to her, in patches, through the still air.  
“.............the big straight-6 with the four speed........... radio cost a bundle.... ....................one time at bat, y¹know? ...................Cochran and Celli, in Oakland....................you¹ll get a real sweetheart deal”  
He seemed even noisier than the big, stupid blowhard that he was talking to, and that was saying something. She took in all of it in the short moment before she came fully awake and felt the raging misery that seemed to swaddle her entire body.  
She remembered the dream of Wally, the frightening sweetness of having him inside her, the tenderness of his hands against her breasts and in her crotch, the sudden brutality with which he’d driven them into her stomach. Her stomach!  
She dug her fingers into the seat of the truck. The muscles in her arms flexed so hard that they cramped. Her lips felt cold as if all the blood had been wrung out of them. She realized that she was shivering. She wanted to stop. It was shaking her insides, making her feel even worse. That made her want to cry. She didn’t dare sob. If she did...... Her mouth tasted salty, then bitter, then sweet, then bitter again, then like nothing she’d ever imagined. As if she’d eaten some rotten thing. Some horrible thing.  
She saw her dad take out his wallet and knew that, any minute, he and her mom were going to pick up that watermelon, and bring it into the truck. She couldn’t stand the thought of being anywhere near it.  
She moved her hand slightly and felt it brush against something lukewarm and mushy. The cheeseburger.  
She heard the click of the door trucks’ handle, before she even realized that she was sliding out of the seat. Her feet hit the powdery ground and worked, autonomically, carrying her up the little rise that separated the fruit stand lot from the highway.  
Saliva ran from the glands in her cheeks and under her tongue. It tasted vile. She started to swallow, to be rid of it, then turned her head and spat, instead. She looked away so she didn’t have to see the the big glob hit the ground.  
She came to the highway and looked both ways, just as if the empty country road had been East 14th Street. The only car coming was a ridiculous old relic, so old that the radiator cap was on the outside of the hood. It was crawling toward her like a bug. Why did she have to keep thinking of bugs? She crossed the highway in front of it with plenty of time to spare. She didn¹t really think of where she was going, just that she was getting away from the truck and the watermelon, and all of it. Getting away for some fresh air, walking around so she’d feel better. She thought she could.  
She remembered what her mother had said;  
“If you’d gotten out of the car and walked around, a little bit, you wouldn’t have done it.” Well, she’d gotten out of the truck and was walking around a little bit. She wasn’t “gonna regurgitate.”

Just ahead, there was an old wire fence with a broken down wooden gate. She dimly realized that she intended to walk over to the gate and lean on it. She stared at it, not really looking at anything else. She struggled with the sickness, as if she believed that losing the battle would literally mean dying. It came to her, in that moment, that nausea was the very worst feeling that there was, anywhere in life. Worse than anything. Worse than a sprained ankle. Worse than a broken arm. Worse than burning up alive. Then the tears did come. She didn’t have anything to fight them with. The sickness was all she could think about. They ran unheeded down her clammy cheeks.  
She tried to keep from thinking of anything but reaching the gate. It seemed Important that she did. Terribly important. The gate. The gate. She spat another mouthful, this time into a clump of thick, thorny weeds. Star thistles. This time, she closed her eyes, again not wanting see the stuff.  
Walking blind, she tripped over something, a jutting rock, or an exposed root. It didn’t matter. She covered the last few steps in a staggering lurch. Only the fence kept her from falling. She collapsed against its’ sagging boards, defeated.  
Nearly falling filled her mind with a terribly vivid image, of stumbling while carrying a huge, heavy bowl, filled to the very rim with some horrible poison, sending its’ horrid contents slopping out all over the ground.  
“That’s what I did,” she thought. “I Slipped and spilled my stomach.”  
The lack of an initial dry heave didn’t register with her, even though it was something that she always experienced when she began throwing up. Her body was simply too ready to be rid of its’ burden to need any priming.  
“UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHH!!!!”  
She felt a small splash bounce up from the ground and hit the edge of her left hand, just as the stinging flood filled her nose, instantly setting her eyes awash. Blearily, she saw the first slimy torrent gush out of her body and flow out onto the weedy ground in front of her. On the way down, part of it splattered against a the trunk of a little scrub oak.  
“That’s why it splashed on my hand,” she thought, watching the puddle in front of her grow wider.  
Just when she began to wonder if he first wave would ever end, it did. She breathed, sucking in great, sucking gasps.  
he blinked several times and her vision cleared a little. Long, mucousy strings dripped down off of the scrub oaks’ twiggy branches. They were a milky gray. She watched, wondering what she’d eaten that had made them that color, until the idea started making her feel bad again.  
The next heave came on, harder than the first. Her retch tore at her throat, sounding in her ears like ripping cloth. Her mouth filled again, this time with hard lumpy chunks; The first of the eggs she’d had. She knew it by the taste, even before she saw them on the ground. The soft feel of the ancient planks giving against her hard, heaving belly held a strange comfort. Again, she thought of hands. Her mothers’, while she was doing this, as a kid. Wallys’ that night, in the Nash, pulling her against him, filling her, in great, gushing waves, just....  
Just the way she was emptying herself, now, pouring everything out onto the ground, onto the dry, dusty grass, into the bright June sunlight. She wanted it to be over. She wanted to be back in Haward, with Wally. She wanted Wally here, even now, sick as she was. Even here, where he’d have to see her throwing up her guts, she wanted him.  
“Throwing up.......”  
Just thinking the words seemed to be enough to make bring on the next wave. She let it take her. It was all she could do, of course. It went on and on like that. Doing it and feeling better. Looking at what was on the ground, or thinking about one of the times she’d done it before, or just thinking the word, vomit, or sick, or bacon and it was on her, again. She let it take her, over and over, as it would.  
Finally, she waited for another wave, but it wouldn’t come. After a long time, she straightened, still holding onto the fence, trembling. She remembered this part from the other times. It was awful.  
“Does it feel like any more¹s gonna come up?”  
Her mothers’ voice, again.  
Yeah. It did. She knew it was going to, but it wasn’t going to happen right away. She was going to have to stay here, still feeling terrible, but not bad enough to help her get better. She stared down at the mess she’d already made, knowing that she was going to make it bigger, maybe much bigger and wanting to, so that all this would be over.  
Her stomach muscles already hurt, and her esophagus felt strained, her throat raw. Her arms were cramping again and she had a splinter in her hand. Her toe throbbed from when she’d tripped. Her mouth felt wet and slimy, a sensation that seemed to reach all the way back down her throat. Even her eyes and face hurt from her laboring. Every inch of her body felt violated. She wished that she could lie down, but if she went back to the truck, she might get sick again, in front of everybody. Or worse, if she gave up trying, she might not get sick again at all, and keep feeling like this.  
She leaned over again, with her mouth open, hoping that something would happen. She remembered the time she had the stomach flu, when even a tiny sip of water would give her the dry heaves. That had been bad, awfully bad, but she wasn’t worried about dry heaving, now. There was more in her stomach, she could tell. And she’d be so glad to bet rid of it. She swallowed, forcing down some of the bitter liquid in her mouth.  
It felt like it might be working. She coughed, not hard, because doing so had become so painful. But it was enough. A moment or so later, she gagged, and her mouth watered again, with that characteristic taste. She waited. When it finally came it sent a painful cramp from her belly down to the tendons in her thighs. Still, it was a long time before the last of it came up. She hung, limply, saliva running out of her mouth and hanging from her lip in a long, ropy string.  
Finally, it happened. The last of it was heavy, coarse and hell to bring up, but when it finally left her, she was done. She knew before it hit the ground.  
She straightened up from the fence and immediately had to grab it again, to keep from falling. Her knees threatened to give way. She decided to sit down for a few minutes. She did, resting her head on the bottom plank of the gate. She leaned forward and spat, trying to get the sick taste out of her mouth. She decided she’d get another pack of Beemans, from the fruit stand, later. Or maybe Doublemint. That might be better for getting rid of the taste.  
There was a big piece of something behind her soft palate. It felt terrible, but  
experience had taught her that she was probably just going to have to wait for it to  
come out. She remembered the Kleenexes in her back pocket and fished them She took one and wiped her eyes and face, then blew her nose. It helped a little, but the chunk stayed where it was. 

She kept staring through the fence, at what was on the ground, almost unable to believe that all of it had been inside her until just a minute ago. Funny that having it inside of her could make her feel so terrible, and that now it was just a lot of stuff, lying there on the ground, beside her. It was over with and she was okay. Funny that her Hayward breakfast could be all over the ground, in Lake County,  
She’d utterly drenched the little scrub oak. She watched a last string of it run down from one of the branches, lengthen then drop free, hitting the soaking ground with a soft “Pat.” All around the oak, the yellow grass was crushed flat wherever her vomit had battered it.  
Absently, she raised the Kleenex to her nose, and blew, once again. This time, the trapped chunk came free. She looked at it, in the white tissue. Biscuit? No. English muffin. A piece of the crust. She’d forgotten about it. There’d been one left and she’d toasted it and eaten it with current jelly, while breakfast was still cooking. Ironically, it was then that she glanced over and noticed a little purple glob, gleaming in the middle of the mess.  
“The jelly,” she thought. Smiling slightly, she reached through the fence and dropped her tissue right on top of the spot of jelly.  
“Only fair.”  
A blow fly came along, hovered, then landed at the edge of the puddle.  
“Uhhhh!”

It was actually going to eat some of her vomit! She decided that she didn’t want to stay there, any longer. And, anyway, her parents were going to start wondering where she’d gone, if they weren’t, already. She didn’t want them wandering over and seeing that. She stood up.  
On the way back, she saw what she¹d tripped over. A shiny brown rock, sticking up out of the dusty clay soil. She had a sudden impulse to kick the thing, but she was just too darned tired. Besides, that would be silly. The stupid rock hadn’t made her get sick. She stood looking down at if for a moment, then went on her way.  
She was so tired. She shambled back to the edge of the highway, gave the obligatory left/right glance, then headed for the fruit stand Reality was setting in. She was in Lake County, a dismal, lonesome place that didn¹t even have a radio station, stuck there for two weeks, with her parents, more than a hundred miles from Wally. She’d have to try and send him a letter, or maybe even him at call Hendersons’ Tractor, if she could get one of her parents to give her enough change.  
Well, at least she felt better. She was finished throwing up. Thinking this, she barely heard the tiny, taunting voice whispering somewhere, deep in the back of her mind.  
“For now,” it whispered. “You’re finished throwing up............for now.”


End file.
